


Held Fast

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [120]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Armor, Armor Kink, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Avengers Tower, Comfort, Embarrassment, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Helmets, Loki (Marvel)'s Horned Helmet, M/M, Mistakes, Sexual Tension, Stark Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: When temptation is too great you get yourself into a bit of a mess. Will Loki help you, or will he be too angry to see what you’ve done?
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [120]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 13
Kudos: 173





	Held Fast

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovelies! There are like two references to Adult Activities in this fic but there is nothing graphic, despite the "armor kink" tag, I promise. You'll see! This will not titillate you or get you too worked up to sleep, I promise!

You knew it was a bad idea. You knew how Loki got about his things, especially things like _that_ , and you knew you’d made a quiet vow to yourself to respect his space. But _he_ knew how much you liked it. It was sleek and shiny and beautifully golden. He knew perfectly well, because you had told him plenty of times already, that sometimes you’d had certain filthy thoughts about this very helm. It was the horns, maybe. You liked the idea of running your hands along them, feeling the graceful curve and the cool metal beneath your skin. And he was the one who’d left it out. Sitting there on the little table in his sitting room, glinting in the sunlight. It was an invitation, wasn’t it?

When you picked it up, the bottom half clattered back down to the table. Right. It’d been made in two pieces, so that it could fit on Loki’s head more securely. It was hard to be sure what, exactly, possessed you, but you settled the top half on your head. It was heavier than you would have thought, and the horns on top made it feel a little unbalanced, but when you straightened your shoulders and kept your chin up, you could manage. You reached for the bottom half and fit it around the back of your head, then clicked it into place without really thinking about it.

Mistake.

As soon as the metal made that final, solid sound, you regretted what you’d done. You didn’t know how to unfasten it. You hadn’t taken the time to investigate whatever mechanisms held things in place. You were trapped. Panic surged in your chest, but you drew a few deep breaths to try to force it away again. You certainly wouldn’t be able to get yourself out of this mess if you dissolved into hysterics. 

Feeling perhaps a bit overly-optimistic, you tugged firmly on the top of the helmet. Your head was smaller than Loki’s—maybe you could remove it without undoing it? Certainly it’d be easier to explain why the pieces were back together than why you’d had the nerve to put it on in the first place. But it barely moved. The bottom part cut into your jawline just sharply enough to warn you to stop what you were doing. You lowered one hand to try to squish the skin of your face enough to let the helm slide off, but it still didn’t work. 

Desperately, your fingers scrabbled around the back of the helmet and dipped inside it, trying to find some kind of button or latch to release the two pieces. But there was nothing. This thing was a prison. It was hard to imagine Loki willingly closing himself up in something like this to go out and fight. Granted, if you couldn’t take it off of your own head, probably an enemy combatant couldn’t either, but surely if someone was trying to remove Loki’s helmet in battle, they’d just remove his entire head, wouldn’t they?

After documenting every last scrap of metal on the entire helmet, you sank into a chair. Maybe the best thing you could do now was sit here and await your fate. Thor and Loki were both home right now, and you could maybe try to go find Thor to see if he could help you, except there was no way that you were going to venture out of this very room with this thing on your head. What if you ran into Loki? What if Thor couldn’t help after all? Whenever Loki came back here, he was sure to be displeased at best. Your anxious brain told you that it was very likely he might even consider _not_ helping you out of the helmet, as punishment for your being so presumptuous. But you could only hope that his desire to take back what was his would overshadow that anger. 

He was gentle. With you, anyway. So far, he had never once turned the full force of his temper upon you. And that was the case even before either of you told the other how you felt. Even when you were just acquaintances who lived in the same building, it became almost a running joke amongst the others, how much he would tolerate from you. But even that—even their noticing how careful he was around you and cracking jokes about it—did not discourage him from doing it. He let you break up fights between him and his brother. He let you calm him during verbal arguments in the briefing rooms. Eventually, he let you take his hand. 

And then he kissed you with a sweetness, a warmth, than you wouldn’t have thought to expect from him. 

You must have offered him something similar, some behavior or comfort that he hadn’t thought to expect from you, but there was very little you could think of that could excuse this. You tried to tilt your head to rest it against the back of the chair, but the neck-piece wouldn’t let you. You couldn’t tilt your head backwards and you couldn’t tilt your head forwards. Did Loki feel this trapped in this thing? You tried to cast your mind backwards, pull up any of your mental images of Thor’s helmet. He had a similar piece on his, didn’t he, that went around the back of his neck? But was his helmet as snug? As restricting? It was hard to be sure, but...you didn’t think so?

It was also hard to be sure how long you sat there. Your neck and shoulders grew tired and sore, but you did not let that distract you from composing your apology in your head. And you wanted to give him a massage. And assure him that, nevermind, you would never have any kind of filthy thought about this nightmare helmet again. And kiss him so gently and hold him and tell him that you were so happy that he was not harmed by it or by anything else he faced in battle.

You were so busy pouring your heart out to the Loki in your head that you barely noticed when the door to his rooms began to open. He had enough time to step fully inside and close the door behind him before you found it in yourself to rise to your feet. You didn’t _want_ to look at him, but you forced yourself to do it nonetheless. This seemed like a moment where he might appreciate the eye contact, if not downright require it.

“I’m sorry!” you said around the lump in your throat. “I’m _so_ sorry. It was sitting out, and I picked it up and then I couldn’t stop myself from putting it on and then it locked and I couldn’t get it off. I’m so sorry, Loki!” Some small, childish part of your mind wanted you to beg him not to be angry with you, but you held that back. He had every right to be angry right now.

He regarded you for a long time as your heart beat in your throat. He did not move from his position there by the door, and his face did not change from the mostly-neutral expression he wore. Still feeling entirely too helpless, you raised one hand to try to tug the helmet off of your head once again, and did your best to hide your wince when, once again, it cut into your skin.

But maybe he saw enough. He shoulders slumped forward a bit, and he started to walk further into the room, though he did turn away from you. He still hadn’t said a word. Instead, he was going...to a closet? Was there a tool there that he needed in order to undo his helmet? You hadn’t felt any kind of slot or a place for a tool to take hold, but obviously he knew better than you could. You took a single step to follow him, but then froze. Maybe he was just leaving the room so he could get control of his anger. Or so he wouldn’t hurt you. 

You’d really messed this up. Once again, your brain began to taunt you. Perhaps he’d kick you out after this. He’d revoke your permissions to be here. He’d tell you to leave his sight and never return. Tears sprang into your eyes. He’d be right to do it. You couldn’t blame him and you certainly couldn’t try to argue with him about it. And you _wouldn’t_ do either of those things. If he told you to get out—whether or not he helped you remove his helmet first—you knew that your only choice would be to accept his request with a nod. So, although you were tired of standing at perfect attention, you refocused yourself and steeled your backbone for this.

Loki returned after a moment or two, carrying a large green cloth with him. That confused you. It was his cape. Surely his cape was not a way to remove the helmet, right? If your flesh-and-bone fingers couldn’t pry it off of you, how could fabric? 

His face remained perfectly blank as he approached you. When he reached out, you flinched a little, but did not allow yourself to flee. That was for the best. He was only reaching out to wrap the cape around your shoulders. Because you weren’t wearing his armor, you had none of those shoulder clips to hold the cape up, but he seemed to have expected that, because he used a large emerald brooch to fasten the cape at your throat. When he was finished, he took a step back, like he was taking in the sight of you. You could barely pay attention to anything other than the sound of your heartbeat, but you caught the way one corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Perhaps I see the appeal now,” he said slowly, taking another step backwards to get the full sight of you. You remained frozen there in the middle of the room, and he began to circle you. “Of the helmet, I mean.”

“I’m sorry!” you said again, twisting your fingers in the hem of your shirt. “I didn’t know that it felt like this. I didn’t think, Loki. I take it all back, okay? I never want to see you in this again.”

He stopped there behind you, and you heard him coo at you in a low voice. He didn’t sound angry, thank goodness, but this whole thing felt strange. He moved closer so that he stood directly behind you, and you flinched when you felt his hands come to rest on your waist. He cooed again, this time with laughter tinting the sound. “I’m sorry to hear that, dove.” He was using the same voice he used late at night, when it was just the two of you and the darkness and hungry touches. “Because I’ve only just discovered that you look positively _ravishing_ in my gear.”

Most of your fear drained away, then, and you allowed yourself to curl backwards into him, though you did remain ever-aware of the helmet and how it might hit him. Though your fingers still trembled, you lowered your hands to rest against his and squeezed them gently. “Will you help me get out of it? I can’t unlock the helmet. I’ll never touch it again, I promise.”

He laughed, then, and you heard, more than felt, the way he nuzzled in against the side of your neck—or, more accurately, against his helmet. When he exhaled, long and slow, some of his breath crept beneath the helmet and settled against your skin. Goosebumps erupted and you tried not to shiver.

“I’ll help you, my love. But I’ve one small request first.”

And you both knew you couldn’t deny him anything.


End file.
